


the shot heard 'round the world

by petraquince



Series: A Very Godly Mess [3]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cat!Charles, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Gratuitous commas, Gratuitous italics, Human Transformations, Humor, M/M, Poor Erik, Protective Erik, Sassy Nico, The Author Regrets Everything, cross-over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:51:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petraquince/pseuds/petraquince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone expects their first time to be magical, including them. Them most of all. The reality: not so much. The wrong kind of magic, perhaps. An AU cross-over with Percy Jackson -- crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the shot heard 'round the world

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a cracky little interlude from thioh, set a few months after Erik and Charles meet. I’m thinking “The Only Exception” by Paramore (I know, how twelve years old of me) as a theme song for Erik’s introspective (sic: fucking moody) bits. Of course, I do not share Ares’ rude opinions on Aphrodite’s more famous child, and I hope I used the pronoun correctly. I sincerely mean no offense to any.
> 
> Warning for, uh, consensual feline drug use, mentions of past drug use and swearing and darker feels.

_“This is the way the world ends/Not with a bang but a whimper.” -- T.S. Eliot_

 

Erik had been waiting for this moment for a a long time: he was a patient man, whose every action resonated with purpose and majesty. Waiting a very, very long time -- so long that he almost expected the words painstakingly chiseled into his headstone to read, “Poor sonuvabitch died of cerulean testicles. But he was kind of an _Scheißekopf_ , too, so that’s okay, then”. Between the family drama (son of Psyche + son of Aphrodite = a great deal of godly angst) and monster attacks (demigods + hellhounds = buckets of injured angst), the stars of screwing never really aligned. 

Oh, what an understatement. Quite frankly, if they were stars, then Charles was out chilling in Hoag’s Object and Erik was in the vaguely ghetto Milky Way. On a collision course with a hole in the fabric of reality. One that was spitting out, like, unicorns and sparky vampires and timelords and crap like that. A star that was possibly about to supernova, too, just for the unadulterated pleasure of it.

When they had first met -- and that hadn’t exactly been a crowning moment of chemistry, more like a crowning moment of _suck_ \-- he knew that he had felt something. Like a pull, in his heart (an organ he had previously avowed had a singular purpose and that was for keeping him alive) and he’d sort of thought _oh hello there, we’re soulmates aren’t we_ and then Charles had gone apeshit on him. That had had him worried for a little bit. But it got better. 

Their first attempt had ended in Erik getting shanked by a possessed Charles (who was mortified and later apologized profusely while Erik bled and moped all over the brand new sheets). The second one was the one at camp, the one that the five year-old spawn of Hypnos interrupted. No further words are needed.

Yes, Erik Lehnsherr was a very patient man, and for the record, unequivocal consent was invariably sexy. That was just how he in particular rolled, motherfuckas.

 

And now, if you listened closely enough with your ear to the firmament of the universe, you could hear angels and ariels in leather and chrome singing, “ _Heil_ , Erik Lehnsherr!”.

Everything was perfect, if he did say so himself. The room was warm, there was even a bottle of Jameson’s out on the sideboard, and the sheets were clean and soft. This would be glorious, transcendent, etc, sparks would fly and Charles wouldn’t be able to walk for a _week_ , if he played his cards right. Erik would then have to carry him _everywhere_ , which meant everyone would see that he was _his_. He would be lying if he said he didn’t get off on that ever so slightly, and that that wasn't one of his more heady fantasies. The metal bed frame was rattling in anticipation, despite his best efforts.

Right on cue, the front door opened downstairs, and he could hear the sounds of his nervous _Schnuckiputzi_ thudding into tables and chairs, rattling the dishes in their cabinets. Erik was an aloof stud muffin, so he would never concede to mere emotions or _nerves_ ( _pshaw,_ he sayeth unto the disbelievers, _pshaw_ yea verily), and he was a son of Aphrodite to boot. That gave him instant sex god status. Or, rather, sex _demi_ god status. 

He doesn’t get fidgety. That was for lesser men. Not that he’s implying Charles is a lesser man -- _oh, hell on toast, I hope Charles doesn’t hear_ any _of this_. 

This being said, he clearly was a bit of a wreck.

So Erik thundered down the stairs to greet ( _is that what the kids are calling it these days_ , Charles projected very loudly) his love, and dear Demeter, what a fuckaroll -- because he slams right smack into Charles and Charles slams right smack into him and they go tobogganing back down the fucking stairs together. Erik doesn’t even have enough time to try to reach out for the metal studs in the walls. They collectively slide into the _Kotzbrocken_ glass hutch and there was an ominous tinkle as many somethings broke from inside. Fortunately, the front panes looked unharmed.

“Jesus tapdancing Christ,” Erik groaned, spitting hanks of Charles’ hair out of his mouth.

“I thought you were Jewish, Erik. You don’t believe in a Christ who dances exotically.” Charles said a bit confusedly, probably because Erik was on top of him and he’d just fallen down the stairs and hit his head into a piece of hefty wooden furniture. 

“It makes for a very satisfying epithet.” He patted Charles’ shoulder. “Are you alright, _Liebchen_?”

“Mm, let me get back to you on that,” Charles murmured, eyes fluttering. “Feel a little fuzzy.”

He looked a little fuzzy, too.

“Shitdamn,” Erik swore feelingly, because this was an instance that called for colorful invective. “Charles, darling, I think you’re growing whiskers.”

“I think you’re a lying liar,” Charles said hazily, “That’s complete rubbish, my friend. Poppycock. Not scientifically possible.”

Erik wanted to shake him. “Screw science, Charles, we’re demigods! Nothing ever makes sense with us!”

The magic words: the transformation went from zero to sixty just like that. If the first changes were atmospheric candles placed charmingly in mason jars then the next wave of transformations were like red and green Catherine wheels in a pitch black sky. The kind that made you shriek and slop food down your front. Charles shrank alarmingly with a loud _pop_ and his spine lengthened to accommodate a tail and this would be hilarious if not for the fact that Charles’ mouth was contorted wide open, screaming soundlessly in pain as the fangs grew in and his teeth lengthened.

And then it was done. Charles was a chestnut tabby cat, sprawled out and panting on the floor, with a pissy look on his wee face. There was a smell like sulphur and brimstone in the air, the quintessential smell of witchcraft the world over.

“ _Mrrow_ ,”

“ _Schweinepriester,_ ” Erik knelt down and gathered up his Charles. “ _Kätzchen,_ Charles, are you okay?”

 _Do I look_ okay _to you?_ He shook his head angrily, hissing and spitting, scrambling out of his arms to collapse on the floor. _I already hate having four legs. It’s just two more to trip on. I swear on everything that’s holy, Erik, if you ever call me “kitten” again, I will decorticate your_ shins _. I_ am _at the right height, now._

That was clearly not an empty threat, judging by the way the fur on the back of his neck and down his spine stood up and the way his tail lashed.

“Charles, can you really understand me?” Erik patted the cat nervously. “Or are you just pretending to make me feel better?” 

Charles lunged very fast, neck twisting, to sink his teeth into Erik’s thumb. He had sharp little teeth, and he worried at the digit for a moment to prove his annoyance before dropping it. _Yes, you thundering Jerry, I can comprehend you perfectly well! I’m not daft -- just temporarily quadrupedal!_

“Well, pardon me for making sure you were alright,” Erik muttered heatedly, ignoring the throb and pain in his heart, the sense of _why is it always us_ , and the panic that was starting to set in. 

 _Oh, I’m sorry, my love, forgive me._ Charles rubbed his tiny little face over Erik’s, the whiskers scraping on his stubble and looked him in the eyes. It was very disconcerting to see a person’s soul behind distinctly inhuman eyes. _I’m just very -- annoyed, with life in general. Did I hurt you?_

 _Yes_ , he wants to scream, _right in the ventricle_. But in real life Erik would rather eat live scorpions than admit to it. Or walk a mile over burning coals in his bare feet. “It was just a scratch, really Charles, I’m fine. It’s you I’m more concerned with.”

 _I will give you that one._ He licked his paw solemnly and ran it over an ear. Erik made a tortured noise and died a little inside. 

There was always something. Every. Single. Goddamn Time. It was like the universe enjoyed poking at Erik and then sniggering behind a hand every time he flipped out.

 

“Whoa, whoa, hold on a second. What. You did _what_.”

Erik twisted the phone cord around his fingers. Not nervously. Nope. Not a bit. “Charles is a cat.” And then, “How is this _my_ fault?”

“The fuck it isn’t.” Nico snorted into the phone and it resonated and brought down trees in New Hampshire with its force, “You have one very simple job, blondie, and it goes as follows: keep Charles out of trouble. Have you failed in this? Yes, I should think so. Charles is a cat. You really can’t make this shit up. Why is it always you guys?”

_I know the feeling_ , Erik thinks to himself. Charles prods him sharply with a front paw, right in the neck. Erik flicks his nose in retaliation.

_That was a low blow, Erik. Tread very carefully._

“Yes. You tend to get used to it after a while.” 

Charles prodded him again, this time with a bit of claw. Erik shushed him, “Hush, hush, _mein_ _kleine Tiger_ ,”, and awkwardly pressed a kiss to the top of his furry little head. 

“ _What_.” Nico squawked into the phone.

"I wasn't talking to you, di Angelo!" He barked. Then the world seemed to come to a screeching, shuddering halt as Erik took a moment to think about what he’d just done.

_Oh, Charles, I’m so sorry. It’s -- the ears. It’s the ears, they make me forget my sense of self-preservation._

Charles had a long-suffering look on his face, which was communicated particularly well by the set of his mouth and whiskers. _It’s alright, m’dear. It’s perfectly understandable, just don’t do. It. Again._

“Hey. _Hey_. Erik. Jaws!”

“What do you _want_ from me?” Erik growled. He briefly considered hanging himself from the rafters with the phone cord. Shit. Then Nico could still bother his ghost -- oh, _anything_ but that. 

_If I could roll my eyes effectively, I would in a_ heartbeat _. A heartbeat, you great big drama queen._

“You’re the one who called me, you great big _Hai Lächeln_.” Indignation colored the Italian’s every inflection.

“You do realize I can understand that, right?”

He could almost see the little shit shrugging. “I thought maybe communicating in your native language would help me get through to you a little better. Thank my translator app.”

“Do you have any thoughts?”

“Well, the other day --”

Erik ran one hand through his hair and gave a sharp tug. Maybe his brain would come out with the next one. Wouldn’t that be _fun_. “Any _useful_ thoughts.” He amended through gritted teeth.

“Keep your pants on, Lehnsherr, I actually do. Did you, oh, I don’t _know_ , piss off any gods recently.”

Hmm. He hadn’t thought of that. It would explain _so much_ , though.

“I don’t think so?”

“Did you destroy anything sacred to them? Just a thought; I know that Hades doesn’t appreciate his shrines getting stepped on. Maybe something associated with the fur-balls.”

Hmm. Destruction. He’d have to rack his brains, wouldn’t he.

_Erik…_

“Hold that thought, Nico,” Erik set down the phone gently and cradled Charles a little more securely in his arms as he rose and walked over to the hutch like a man going to the guillotine. There it was, bold as brass on the shelf. _Fuck._

He picked the phone up again, “Ah. About that.”

Nico heaved a sigh. “You _did_ , didn’t you. I’ll be right over. Just -- don’t move. Or do anything stupid.”

 

His “right over” might’ve only been five minutes, but that was more than enough time for Charles to shed gingery brown hairs all over the television screen, and then get jammed behind the refrigerator in true cat fashion. It seemed to be taking his boyfriend a while to achieve the famed  levels of grace and balance.

Erik heaved a long suffering sigh from the kitchen sink, gingerly turning on the tap and watching the water run pinkish-red from his hand.

_Sorry, sorry!_ Charles meowed contritely from the counter, sitting very primly with his tail wrapped over his feet. Erik ignored him and gingerly wiped the blood from his face with a wet rag, wincing as the material encountered the open gash on the bridge of his nose. Charles’ blue eyes were almost luminous. Slit pupils suited him. That was a disturbing train of thought, one he abandoned almost immediately after thinking it. _I didn’t really mean to swipe you! It’s instinctive -- you grab the tail, you pay the price._

“I think,” he said slowly and out loud, “that we should look into getting you your shots. Rabies in particular comes to mind.”

_If it’s any consolation, I really am deeply sorry. It’s like I can’t regulate my emotions in this form. One moment I am deeply content and the next I am planning the downfall of the human race._

Good to know.

“Kinky.” Nico smirked as he melted out of the shadows in the corner, eyes shooting from figure one: Charles the cat, to figure two: the bleeding man.

“I see you brought the live-in boyfriend with you, too.” Erik sneered, mostly to cover up his surprise, and scooped up his lover.

“Play nice, girls.” Jason (the ever-present) shook his head and held out his arms for Charles. Clearly, the little sass had enlightened him as to the situation. Erik grudgingly relented his charge, who licked Jason’s chin and purred faintly. That two-timing hussy.

Nico shot him a contemplative look. “You know, _Lehnsherr_ , by all rights you and I should be best buds. I’m Italian, you’re German -- what could possibly go wrong?”

Charles winced, a tiny movement that scrunched his nose and closed his eyes. It was adorable.

Erik pointed a finger. “Watch it with the World War II jokes, kid, my grandfather was in the camps. One day your boyfriend won’t be around to protect you with his superior musculature. And when that moment comes,” Erik smiled nastily, “I’ll be there.”

Nico smiled a nasty smile. “Don’t talk to me about World War II, _boy_. I was _there_. I have immediate rights to make as many uncomfortable jokes as I so desire.”

“Erik” Jason said mildly, Charles dangling from his arms with an expression like paradise on his face. Erik felt like breaking something. “No threatening my fiancé. Fiancé, stop antagonizing people.”

“I wish to offer my condolences in the face of your upcoming nuptials,” The German stressed the last word, dragging out the syllables menacingly.

“Fuck you, Lehnsherr.”

_Get a hold of yourselves, children_ Charles projected, reminiscent of Jason’s earlier words. _You lot have a job to do. I can’t exactly fix this on my own. I don’t mean to be an attention-sponge --_

“Yes, because that’s _so_ not in the nature of a cat --”

_But I would rather like to be able to drink alcohol without dying a painful death. Because the very first thing I do when I get out of this body is to have a very stiff drink._

 

They all stared at the dismembered ceramic figurine with rather varied expressions. Charles’ tail swished back and forth unhappily.

_This one is definitely our fault._

“Nice one,” Nico said sardonically, “Out of all the tchotchkes, you had to break the only Greek one.”

“How do you even have this?” Jason wondered, touching a detached paw  with a careful finger. “I know Charles is loaded beyond all belief, but this thing is priceless.”

Charles stiffened slightly. _A colleague from the Archaeology Department at Oxford gave it to me._

“A ‘colleague’, Charles?” Erik asked pointedly.

_Really, Erik, now? You want to do this now?_ Charles hissed, puffing up slightly. Jason absentmindedly scratched behind his ear. _Oh, never mind, I just can’t stay mad -- that’s lovely, thank you Jason. I love you temporarily, a bit further down if you wouldn’t mind, oh gods that feels so good._

Nico’s slowly widening eyes trawled from the tabby to his fiancé and then back to Erik. His mouth opened, but then snapped shut again with a decisive click. That was possibly the smartest thing he’d done all night long.

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. Alright, priorities, Lehnsherr. Get it together now. Your boyfriend could remain a cat indefinitely, now is not the time for snark. Besides, he also has literal claws now.

_And can hear every word you’re thinking in that brain of yours._

Freaking demigods.

“You’re absolutely right, I apologize, Charles.” Erik said stiffly.

In the background, Nico made a hand motion like he was snapping a whip, and Jason provided the sound effects. 

_Pun intended?_ Charles sprawled out on the carpet dramatically. 

The demigod considered this. “Oh, actually, no, it was a happy accident. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

 

“I’m afraid this might be a little more...long-term than you previously imagined.” Chiron sighed and steepled his hands on top of his desk. He was in his human disguise for the moment, and the metal frame of his wheelchair called out to Erik. He briefly entertained the notion of making it pop a wheelie. 

Charles prodded him on the shoulder, shifting his weight on the trapezius muscles. This was turning out to be a habit of his. _Pay attention, my love._

Chastened, Erik did as bid, stroking a hand down Charles’ spine, scratching his fingers on the vertebrae and making a mental note to fatten Charles up. A sense of amusement emanated from his mind.

“I believe Hecate might be playing a little joke on you, at the behest of one of her more powerful friends.”

“Ailuros,” Annabeth interjected. “Literally Ancient Greek for ‘cat’.”

 “Since you broke the statuette, which is a sign of deep disrespect.” Chiron concluded and raised an eyebrow. “How _did_ you break the statuette?”

“Long story,” Erik muttered.

“How ‘long term’ are we talking?” Jason asked, arms folded, apparently the only one mature enough to be asking the right questions.

“I’m...not sure. A week, at the very least.” The centaur admitted.

_I reject that out of hand. There has to be some way to kickstart the change back._ Charles projected, hackles raising. _You have no idea what this is like -- every time something moves back and forth I feel the sudden need to chase it -- and speak to me not of dangling objects. It took all of my will to not bat at the keychains on some small child’s backpack. Everyone wants to pet me, and I’m annoyed at first but then they scratch my ears and dear gods I just want it to_ end _._

Chiron eyed him, disgruntled. Annabeth stifled a chuckle under her hand, and Lou Ellen, head of the Hecate cabin, looked at Charles with a contemplative air.

“Fascinating,” She murmured, reaching out a hand for Charles to sniff. “This is no mere manipulation of the Mist. Mom really did change him all the way.”

He sniffed at her ever so gingerly and then recoiled a little. The girl’s face expressed hurt and displeasure. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Charles, did I startle you?”

The cat hissed, spine arching in stereotypical cat manner.

“Charles,” Erik admonished, surprised, “be polite.”

_She smells like magic_ , was all he said when prodded again a bit later.

 

“The things I do for love, Charles.” Erik muttered as he opened the door to Petsmart, breathing in that first whiff of unspeakable things. “The things I _do_.”

_Oh, honey, your life is so_ hard _. You have to go into a pet store. Boo hoo. Go cry me a river. In the wise words of Tallahassee, “Nut up or shut up”._

He turned his head to eye the cat perched on his shoulder, “Wisdom indeed. You’re even sassier than usual, especially for being one-tenth your normal size. Have you been taking lessons from the little Italian shit?”

_My size compacts all my rage and indignity and then it comes back out all the more intense._ Charles thought dryly. _It’s like putting flammable chemicals from a large canister to a smaller one and forgetting to compensate for size differences._

“Can I help you find anything sir?” An employee in a bright shirt and stiff smile with cosmetically whitened teeth walked up to them. “What a cute little kitty.”

Erik considered the man, looking sideways at him from under condescending eyelashes. “He bites.” _Indulge me, please, Charles_. He thought as loud as he could.

_Consider it granted_.

It was like the early Roman Catholic Church all over again, and Martin Luther was spinning in his grave like a top. Charles snarled like a predatory mammal weighing in at more than fifteen pounds -- like one with claws resembling meathooks and teeth shaped like triangular saws. One that lurked in caves, eating unsuspecting passerby. Erik would’ve bet hard cash that his eyes went red as well had he been able to see his face. Would that he had thought to bring a camera with him to preserve this moment forever.

“Gah!” The unfortunate employee jumped explosively. “Does that thing have its shots?”

The demigod didn’t even deign to reply, and just strolled right on past him, descending further into the heart of purgatory.

_I should feel really bad about that. That was unnecessarily mean. However, I don’t. See, my love, you’re always dragging me down to your level._

_He called you a_ thing, Erik pointed out. 

_Mmm, indeed he did. Now I feel less guilty. But my earlier statement is still proved valid._

“I prefer to think of it as an ongoing education in how to succeed at life.” Erik said out loud, perusing the list of ingredients typed out by some poor schmuck in the Fancy Feast™ Headquarters on the back of a cat food tin. Chemicals, processed gravy and meat sprung fully formed from test tubes. Decisions, decisions. “What do you think, Charles, Sea Captain’s Choice or Grillin’ Delights?”

A woman a few feet away from him shot him an odd look that was duly ignored.

Charles dug his claws into the hard muscle of his shoulders. _I hope you’re being ironic, for your sake, my friend. If you so much as_ attempt _to feed those...damnable sodium bombs to me I will have no other choice but to puke them back up and into your shoes. The leather ones._

Erik did grab a few, just in case, and moved on to the litter aisle, whereupon his nose was both serenaded by the pleasant aroma of cedar shavings and then assaulted with the scent of hellish chemical sand, also created in a test tube. Likely the same one as the meat previously mentioned.

_This is so humiliating_. Charles muttered mentally. _This is like going shopping for trousers with a much skinnier friend._

“I don’t know, _Liebchen_ , I think this is rather fun.” He held up two choices. “Would you prefer to use a red toilet or a blue one?”

_Would_ you _prefer shredded or tenderized?_ The claws came out a little further, a constant reminder to watch his tongue and mind his p’s and q’s.

“Pink it is, then.” Erik selected the appropriate vessel from the shelf. “This is so surreal.”

_I loathe you_.

“No, you don’t,” He grinned, stroking his cheek. Charles purred quietly, rubbing against the back of his neck.

 

_Later, in the evening_

“I come bearing gifts,” There was a kid at the door, some pupil of Charles’ with an Irish name and violently ginger hair. Seamus, or something: Erik couldn’t quite remember. Apparently, he was a demigod, too.

“Hello,” Erik said warily. “Are you the one who peddles drugs in your free time or shoots plasma beams out your ass?”

_ERIK! I am positively mortified!_

“Drugs?” Sean -- that’s it, _Sean_ \-- blinked in response. “My half-brother-in-god is the one with the laser baggage. It’s pretty intense shit, man.”

Erik shrugged and stepped aside in the doorframe to let the kid in. “At least _you_ won’t cause structural damage to my home.”

The kid grinned psychotically, pausing in the mud room, “ _Just your mind_.” 

He pressed a small parcel into Erik’s hand. Erik raised an eyebrow condescendingly but tucked it into his pocket nevertheless and took extra care to shield his thoughts. One never knew when mind-altering recreational fun would come in handy. Especially in a house with a telepath.

Charles came padding out into the hallway and walked straight up to Sean and placed his front paws on his leg. 

_I gather this may come as a bit of a shock to you, Mr. Cassidy, but --_

“Chillax, Professor X. Mr. Chiron already gave a select few the low-down.” He spread his arms out wide and then bent down to scratch Charles under the chin, “And I was one of the chosen. Kneel before Sean.”

Erik didn’t know whether to mourn the decline of the English language or be impressed.

_It’s very kind of you to pay us a visit, Sean. Would you care for any refreshments?_ This last bit in particular was aimed towards Erik very pointedly. 

Erik also ignored it very pointedly. Hospitality was not in his nature, after all.

“Actually, I kind of have to split. I dropped by to offer my, uh, good wishes and get the four-one-one for realz, just in case Secretariat’s love child was yanking my chain, you know?”

Erik didn’t.

“Indeed,” He made a noncommittal noise of agreement. 

“Well, see you later, alligators.” The kid left as spontaneously as he arrived, waving smartly and disappearing back into the night.

Charles blinked. _That was odd. Even for Sean._ He padded back out and over to his plaid kitty bed, where he curled up. _He means well, he really does._

“Mm, yes, dear.” Erik patted his head and then retreated to the study and shut the door behind him firmly. He turned on the lamp with a wave of his hand, and bent his head to study the package a little more closely. He raised it to his nose and sniffed, then raised an eyebrow. That did not smell like any pot he’d ever been acquainted with.

He opened it up delicately and shook out a few leaves. Catnip. Son of a bitch.

There were only two ways this scenario could possibly pan out. He made an executive decision in the blink of an eye. Fuck it. Your boyfriend is only a cat once. 

“Oh, Charles! Here, kitty kitty kitty!” He opened the door and called out, clicking his tongue and rubbing his fingers together.

He came trotting. _Yes, m’dear?_

Erik grinned manically. “Sean brought us a little present. I think you in particular will be in a position to appreciate it.”

He offered the packet to Charles, who sniffed it. Then sneezed, and sniffed at it again. And again. He shook his head spasmodically, sneezed again and sniffed, gently taking the parcel in his teeth, before coming to his senses temporarily and dropping it.

_Erik. You did not just do the thing._ You could tell he was trying so hard to be mad, but just couldn’t quite manage it.

“I did the thing.” Erik’s grin got a little bigger. “Go nuts, Charles.”

 

_ERIK! THE PIE! It’s crawling on the walls, oh my god, it’s looking at me! Erik! Are you listening?_

_Ooh; now it’s a llama -- pretty little llama. Did you know that some people eat llamas, Erik? They’re supposed to be quite nutritious and part of a balanced breakfast._

 

That night, he lazed on the couch, watching BBC reruns and felt happy. Really happy. Even thought Charles was a cat, he was also, like, the cutest cat ever. The being in question was draped languidly over his chest, eyes hazy and half lidded, purring like a motorboat.

“Is this what they call contentment, Charles? I could get used to it,” He mused, running a hand over silky ears and tweaking them.

_You’re a bad, bad kid, Erik Lehnsherr and I love you so much it --_

“Charles?” Erik looked down at him. 

The cat jumped off him suddenly, and scuttled behind the couch. Erik waved a hand at the television and it shut off with a click and crouched down to look behind it. “Charles? What’s wrong?”

_I can’t --_ His blue eyes gleamed like geodes, and he shook his head, ears folded back, _Erik, it’s fading, I can’t hear you anymore, Erik, I love you forever and ever and --_

And then it was gone. No fanfare or tell-tale noises, outside unhappy cat sounds. The presence in the back of his mind, that had been there for months, possibly all his life, just disappeared. Gone.  Like it was never there in the first place.

 

To his credit, it wasn’t until a week later that Erik finally snapped. He just woke up one morning and lay in bed with the blinds drawn and called in sick. His door was firmly closed, with Charles on the other side of it. For all intents and purposes, he was dead to the world. He got up a few hours later only to scrape a can of food onto a dish for Charles and to void his own bladder. That was it.

Charles tried his damnedest to get his attention, as he’d been trying for the past six days and to no avail: turning the cute knob up to eleven, rolling around and showing his creamy belly, twining around his ankles whenever he took a step, threatening to unbalance him. He knocked his toys into the door with loud thumps when Erik shut it behind him. He yowled plaintively at it for almost an hour straight, then went silent.

Erik mulled over his thoughts, alone in self-created exile, deep in introspective crisis mode. What was the point to loving something so deeply, when all you did was get hurt? His one true love was a fucking domesticated creature with whom he could no longer even communicate. His job was shitty and dead end and any day now he could drop dead. There was no point. His father was dead and so was Charles’, and his sister, as well. There was no point. He was just so tired.

Somewhere in his mind, a little part of him (that sounded suspiciously like Charles back when he was, you know, _human_ ) hammered on the walls and screamed “ _don’t you fucking dare, Lehnsherr_ ” and tried to turn down the volume on “Rammstein’s Greatest Hits” which was slowly drowning it out.

The phone rang a few times and went straight to the answering machine. The mailman griped as he stubbed his toe on the obnoxious garden gnome that Charles secretly loved. When Charles was still a human, of course.

Greek gods showing up out of nowhere in his bedroom was met with no surprise, either, just numb acceptance.

“Hey, bub!” Ares barked, veins standing out in his neck, hair combed up into two distinctive peaks -- _what a waste of good pomade,_ Charles would’ve sniggered. Had he still been a human.

“Hello, Lord Ares,” He said dully, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“The fuck do you think you’re doin’, laying around on your lazy ass, bub?”

He didn’t particularly feel the need to answer him.

“Don’t you dare ignore me, bub!”

Wordlessly, Erik crumpled one of the god’s pathetic weapons into a pathetic ball of steel.

“Now you’re really pissin’ me off!” There was a smell like ozone and a _snick_ as his claws came unsheathed. “I’ll give you to the count of three. One… _Two_ …I really mean it -- two and a half!”

He did absolutely nothing. Ares petered out.

“Aw, fuck it.” He ran a hand through that mountainous hair of his. “ _Merde_. Just looking at you makes _me_ feel depressed, too. That’s some unnatural shit you’ve got going on there.”

Erik couldn’t agree more. Ares sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Erik scooted his leg away from him with the slightest bit of distaste in the curl of his lip.

“Listen, bub, I’m only here because your Mama got on my case. That woman has bigger balls than I do -- reminds me of the time I met one o’ her more _famous_ kids. Well, I met hir alright and _hoo boy_ \--” Apparently he had to physically shake the dust of that memory from himself. “Anyway. She told me to tell you, and I’m quoting her directly here because some prose is just too purple to pull out of my ass on the fly, that ‘many things on this earth are not permanent’ and that ‘the strength of your love’” here he pulled a very mature kissy face and winced, “‘could change the appearance of things for the better’. Damned if I know what that means. Women, eh? Damn near fucking inscrutable.

“All I’d care to add is that if you don’t get off your lazy ass soon, I might be tempted into smiting it. That reminds me -- hear from that Chuck kid lately? I don’t normally go for that sort of thing, but he was one fine piece of ass, if I do say so myself. Tell you what,” He grinned wolfishly. “If he grows sick of your ugly mug and wants a real man with a bit of meat on his bones, tell him to look me up. I’d be more than willing to --”

It was like thawing a long frozen steak, unearthed from the bowels of the freezer. It took forever and was one of those things where you’d almost given up about five times in the beginning, and it required a lot of hot water, swearing and just over-all abuse. But in the end, the results were bloody and had great potential. Erik launched himself out of bed and slammed the god into the wall with a highly satisfying crack of plaster.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere near Charles or objectify him ever again or I swear to God I’ll snap off each of your claws one by one and shove them up your ass so hard they’ll come out your mouth and then maybe you’ll. Stop. Talking!” Erik snarled, looking the god straight in the eye with a rather wild expression on his face. 

It never really occurred to him that threatening a being thousands of years old with bodily harm was a very dangerous prospect, one not to be ventured lightly into, and was not an overall good idea. 

“I know you don’t normally go for that sort of thing _._ ” He concluded with a razor sharp smile.

Ares smiled back, this time a little more gently (think, wolverine not dire wolf) and melted straight out of his grasp.

“Oh, for the love of fuck!” Erik strode over to the window and threw it wide open with a clamor. “If I see you around here again I’ll kick your _Arsch_ , Ares!”

The little old auntie who lived several doors down the street stuck her head out her own window, eyes boring straight into his and the look on her face could’ve melted chain mail. Erik shrunk slowly down below the windowsill, chastised.

It all hit him like a snowball -- nay, an abominable _snowman --_ to the face. Fuck. He was the biggest idiot north of Florida. His mother, on the other celestial hand, was a genius. If she hadn’t already been a goddess, this alone would’ve been incentive enough for him to start making sacrifices in her honor.

_And maybe_ , he thought as he unlocked his bedroom door, _Ares wasn’t actually that big a dick. He was still a fucking creep, though._

He hurried down the hall, feet stuck into Charles’ too small slippers, clad only in a wife-beater and boxers, and galloped down the stairs.

“Charles! Here kitty kitty!” He called out, voice cracking in desperation. He pulled pillows off the couch, checked behind bits of furniture, but Charles was nowhere to be found.

It was even raining out, just to complete the tableau of utter misery. He sank into the armchair opposite the window, head in his hands and felt hopeless tears well up.

It was at that moment that the universe decided to Erik Lehnsherr a solid, albeit in a very roundabout fashion. The old aunt from across the way -- let’s call her Mrs. Figg -- called out something to another neighbor, who replied in a loud shout and, too occupied with the no doubt scintillating conversation at hand, walked into her metal trash cans. All three of them, which were lined up in a row like ducklings, one after the other after the other.

It sounded like the first fifth grade band practice of the school year.

As the neighbor vented his ire colorfully, and Mrs. Figg shrieked her displeasure, and the rubbish bins demanded formal representation in a court of law and the abused metal listed out its grievances to any who cared to listen in a loud and glorious babel, Erik looked across the room in pure startlement. He glanced briefly at the window, thinking _hadn’t I left that open earlier_ and _the fuck’s going on outside? Armageddon?_ Then his eyes alit on the slumped, thoroughly soaked silhouette perched on the sill and his world kicked into overdrive.

_Charles_. 

Somehow -- and that _somehow_ was probably named _Ares_ \-- he’d gotten trapped outside. In the deluge.

He stood up so fast the chair went scooting backwards and crashed into something that broke -- _really, again?_ \-- into a thousand smithereens with a loud din. He tripped over both of his own feet and into that fucking ottoman right at kneecap height that Nico fostered an inexplicable fondness for in his haste to get to the other side of the room.

“ _Ow, Schei_ _ße,_ Christ on towboat, _Charles_!” His fingers caught on the latch purely by accident and he wrenched it open. “Charles, my love!”

The milkman was the only passerby who witnessed this, as his neighbors were much too involved in their own local dramas. Later, he would attest to all and sundry (namely the postmaster and his wife) that poor Mr. Lehnsherr was a very strange and lonely man. Yes, he did suspect a touch of the bestiality, and yes, he would pray for him the following Sunday at church. His wife rolled her eyes and told him to shut up and finish his eating his greens.

The man gathered the cat into his arms and rushed them both into the bathroom at warp speed. Charles mewed pitifully. Erik manhandled him into a towel burrito with one hand and gestured for the metal in the hairdryer with the other. The plug went true and Erik flicked it on and started drying off his boyfriend like each and every raindrop had affronted him personally. Which they kind of had, in all honesty. One does not mess with another man’s soulmate.

“Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry, I love you, I love you so much. I don’t care that you’re a cat, just please don’t die and leave me!”

Then there was a loud pop as reality righted itself and Charles fucking Xavier returned to his regular human self. The towel was now much too small to contain his glory and now very obsolete indeed.

“Oh, _Erik_.” He said with a look of melting fondness. “You great big drama queen, no one ever died of a little _rainwater_.”

Erik gaped and said numbly, “Tell that to the pneumonia ward, honey.”

“You’re impossible,” Charles threw his arms around his neck and tackled him with a great, big, enthusiastic, joyous, naked kiss. Erik threw the hairdryer from his person to better wind his hands around his soft waist and responded with just as much enthusiasm, if not more.

This was not what they had been expecting for their first time. Maybe something involving a little more anticipation, planning perhaps, and one that did _not_ take place in the awkward space in between the tub and the cabinets on the bathroom floor. That was generally the societal norm.

Fuck the system.

 

“I don’t buy it,” Nico glowered, eying the two of them and slamming his hands down on the table top like some two-bit interrogator. “I call bullshit. There is no way in this multiverse that Charles got cured by,” and here he screwed up his face in comic odium, “‘the powers of love’ courtesy of Shark Boy over there. That’s way too freaking _easy_.”

Erik glowered right back, baring his teeth and kicking at the shorter demigod’s feet from underneath the table.

“What can I say?” Charles spread out his hands in a show of defeat, cheesy grin spreading across his face and lighting his bright blue eyes. “Erik is a hunka hunka burnin’ lo--”

Nico held out a hand like a traffic cop. “Gag,” he groaned. “I am so done.”

Percy shot the group an odd look from over where he was waiting tables.

 

Erik did end up burning a nice rib roast for Aphrodite a day later, and included a hastily scribbled note, too, that read:

_Dear Asshole,_

_You’re a shitty actor._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Erik Lehnsherr_

Surely, if nothing else, the god would get a kick out of it. He watched the flames die down and went back inside with a feeling of great satisfaction to wrap his arms around Charles. He slumped bonelessly (Charles insisted that his habits as cat were firmly vanquished. Erik disagreed) against him, humming happily. He tilted his head upwards to look at him rather than the papers he was grading. That made Erik puff out his chest a little. He was much better looking than science.

“Hello, you.”

Charles breathed in deeply, nose buried in Erik’s hair. “You smell like charcoal and smoke.”

“Do you want me to go put on cologne?” Erik nibbled at his neck delicately, barely tasting him, coaxing a small moan from the shorter man. “I will, for you.”

Charles’ pupils dilated rapidly and he turned around on the stool to wrap his arms around the taller man’s neck. “I kind of like it,” he breathed.

Suffice to say the science didn't get done until the morning before they were due

to be handed back out.

 

 

_Epilogue_

“Charles, I have a confession to make,” Erik mumbled, pressing little kisses to the top of Charles’ head.

“Mmm?” The smaller man’s face was pressed into his side like it was the most comfortable place on earth, breath tickling his sides and ghosting along his ribs. “Did you try on your ex-girlfriend’s pink panties and kinda like it?”

Erik flicked his nose. “Don’t be silly, you incorrigible nerd.”

The shorter man yawned endearingly, nuzzling his nose like he was trying to drill his way through Erik’s ribcage. He would let him do such a thing in a heartbeat, if he asked. “Well, out with it, then.”

“I knocked over that ugly vase the other week, the one with the greyhounds painted on it, y’know, when you were still a cat.”

Charles stiffened, “What?”

“But I am very much alright, _mein Schatz_ , see!” He continued on, sensing maybe this wasn’t the wisest course of action. At least he’d brought it up after sex. “Look! No tail!” He grabbed Charles’ hand and pressed it somewhere a little intimate.

“Good gods,” Charles tried to sound exasperated, he really did. Extra credit for effort. “And you call me incorrigible. Really, m’dear, you have all the maturity of a five year old.”

“ _Woof_ ,” Erik leaned down and nibbled on his shoulder.

“That,” the other man admonished, “is _not_ funny.”

 

_The next morning -- at unholy o’clock_

“Shit buggering bloody shite feck! Nico! Please pick up!” Charles paced the length of the room, wringing the phone in his hands like it was a wet cloth.

The other end picked up and greeted him with a yawn. “It is three in the morning, Chuck, this had better be really good.”

“Oh, thank the pantheon!” Charles moved his hands to the phone cord anxiously, “I’m about to cack my fecking kecks, di Angelo!”

“‘Cack your kecks’?” The demigod said groggily, “what the hell, man, is that even English?”

“Erik’s a bloody Jack Russell Terrier!” Charles howled into the phone, beyond the point of hysteria and thoroughly done with all this shit. Subtlety promptly went sailing out the window.

“ _Yark!_ ” Barked Erik, from down at his feet.

Charles whimpered. There was always something, wasn’t there.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> References!
> 
> 1\. Ailuros is the Greek version of Bastet (or Bast, take your pick) that they adopted during (approximately) the Ptolemaic fuckery of Egypt. 
> 
> 2\. I got all my German and Italian from swear dictionaries and Google Translate (heil!), so if anything is wrong, I truly apologize and mean no disrespect. Please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’ve said something like hon hon hon I like anteaters in whatever language! However, I do know my French, because I suffered (i.e slept) through four years of it.
> 
> 3\. Quote from Zombieland -- Tallahassee to be more specific.
> 
> 4\. Quote from Supernatural -- kneel before Todd! And the panty line from the epilogue.
> 
> 5\. I really hope I don’t have to point out the Doctor Who/Twilight ones in the beginning. Because that would be sad.
> 
> 6\. Guess who made a guest appearance as the god of carnage and badassery! Our favorite Logan
> 
> 7\. Arabella Figg from Harry Potter, aka Mad Cat Lady With Assault Handbag
> 
> 8\. Shark Boy from Shark Boy and Lava Girl -- that godawful movie
> 
> 9\. To cack your kecks is Scottish Gaelic for crap your trousers.
> 
> 10\. Angels and ariels in the beginning is a reference to 1952 Vincent Black Lightning by Richard Thompson


End file.
